


Leur vie en rose

by bigsunglasses



Category: Sabrina (1954)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsunglasses/pseuds/bigsunglasses
Summary: Sabrina and Linus begin their happily ever after.





	Leur vie en rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [partypaprika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, partypaprika!

Linus had been accustomed to considering himself an early bird all his life, even at college. _Early to bed and early to rise_ , and so forth, after all. He had prided himself on his matutinal habits every day for – well, more years than he could really remember. He never threw the alarm clock against the wall like his father; he _had_ an alarm clock unlike David; and, in stark contrast to his mother, he was quite capable of washing and dressing within a brisk twenty minutes or so.

The very first morning on the liner he discovered that Sabrina beat him to flinders in this department. She was such an early bird that she might as well have been a night owl. She knocked on his cabin door at half past six exactly, and asked if he wanted to have breakfast up on deck, picnic-style.

There was nothing Linus would have liked more, at eight o’clock. At half past six, it was only the exhilaration of love that got him out of bed. “Is it really morning yet? Are you sure?” he shouted as he hastily shaved.

Her gurgle of laughter resonated from the other side of the door, and suddenly he couldn’t wait to see the smile he knew went with it. “The sun’s up, silly!”

“It probably made a mistake.”

“I don’t think the sun makes mistakes. Just imagine if it did. The whole world might starve.”

He grabbed his jacket and flung open the door. She beamed at him with all her might. “You look very smart, Linus.”

“David packed some suitcases for me,” he said drily. “Not quite the styles I would have chosen - “ He looked down at the white jacket. “But I can buy new things in Paris. Now, enough about me. Let’s look at _you_ , Sabrina. Aren’t you a vision?”

She twirled. A royal blue skirt belled out; the fabric made a pretty rushing noise. “I don’t think you’ve seen this one yet, have you, Linus? It’s my last unworn outfit from Paris – unworn in America, I mean. My friends in Paris would recognise it.”

Linus slid his arm around her trim waist. It rested there perfectly, as if they’d been born to fit each other. “Have you been keeping track? That’s very organised of you.”

“Well, it isn’t as if I had as many clothes as _some_ ladies,” she said, strolling with him towards the staircase. “I can’t afford them. And I did so want to impress David. So I had to be careful not to wear the same things too often.”

“I’m not sure he would have noticed, my dear. Men don’t.”

She twinkled at him. “Does that include you?”

“Not at all – I am no ordinary man.” He felt more or less godlike right now, in fact. Loving Sabrina, loved in return, and the prospect of Paris and a thousand other such happinesses for the rest of his life. He snugged her closer against him, and felt her delighted sigh, and discovered that he could not stop smiling.

*

The Bois de Boulogne; rain on the streets of Montmartre; coffee at tiny cafes; kisses atop _la tour Eiffel_ – Sabrina smiled at Linus one evening across the supper table, about ten days after their arrival, and said, “I feel as if I am discovering Paris for the first time again. How different it is, and how wonderful, to see it through your eyes as well as mine.”

He reached out to clasp her hand. She ought to have known at once that David wasn’t her true love, she decided. When David touched her, she never felt a special, electric little shiver where his skin touched hers. “Sabrina,” said Linus, “shall we stay in Paris together for ever? Should you like that?”

 _Together for ever._ How gorgeous to think in such terms. _La vie en tandem ..._ She squeezed his hand. “Dearest Linus, it’s a lovely idea, but - I don’t think it would do. I would miss Father very much and – I think you would miss your parents, too. And I’m sure they miss us. I know you get telegrams from Mr Larrabee every day.”

Linus snorted and tossed back the last of his drink. “All that old man is concerned with is the business! He’s let me run the company long enough that he can’t remember how to do it.”

It was an arrestingly pitiful image. She had grown up inculcated with respect for Mr Larrabee, but everything she had heard from Linus in the past weeks had upended her vision of the wise and steady patriarch. “He must need you terribly,” said Sabrina thoughtfully. “Especially with David on honeymoon.”

“Never mind a honeymoon: David could be on the actual moon and it wouldn’t make a difference.” Every time his brother’s name was mentioned, Linus’s grip tightened slightly - it was heavenly. “My brother doesn’t know a thing about business. Anyway, let’s not talk about him. I have something more important to say to you.” His spare hand fumbled in his pocket. Sabrina, in a flash of excitement, realised what was happening just before he placed a little glittering circle of gold on the table. “I forgot I hadn’t actually asked. Will you marry me?”

The ring blurred a little in her sight. She nodded, and laughed, and nodded again, and then had to sniff back tears. 

“Did I do it wrong?” He leaned forward, and she heard rough anxiety in his voice. It made her heart leap. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m happy, of course. Have you never wept for happiness, Linus?” she whispered, and blinked hard.

He slid the ring onto her finger, and then bowed and kissed it. “Shall I speak to the American ambassador tomorrow? Will your dear old baron give you away? I know you must want your father, but it’s beginning to kill me to bid you farewell each night. I don’t want to go back to New York to marry - ”

“Oh, _no,_ ” said Sabrina involuntarily. “Besides, just imagine the fuss they’d make.”

“Much better to get it done quickly,” Linus agreed. He was smiling at her. It was the loveliest smile. It alone made her want to cry sometimes, from the way it made her feel – as if he liked looking at her more than any other sight in the world. 

And he would be looking at her that way _for ever._

Still smiling, he passed his handkerchief across the table.

*

For a week after the wedding they lived in a blissful bubble, with kisses so numerous that Sabrina lost count in her secret tally, and daiquiri stains on their sheets, and mornings where they didn’t get up until the afternoon. 

Then the letters began to arrive.

The senders could be divided into three broad categories – women who had been dangling after Linus and were bitter; businessmen wanting to know when Linus would have his fill of romance and return to New York; and various of Linus’s relatives who considered it their duty to inform Linus that he was the first Larrabee to marry his mistress and he’d be sorry for it.

“Mistress!” said Sabrina, almost sick with anger and distress. “ _Mistress_!”

Linus snatched that letter from her hand. “I’ve never seen anything like it. They didn’t let loose on David that way.”

They had driven out of Paris with newspapers, letters and lunch for a picnic, and were presently perched on a blanket in an idyllic meadow under a bright sun. Sabrina suddenly began to feel cold, and hugged her knees. Father’s comments about democracy couldn’t help but ring in her mind. “They’ll never accept me,” she prophesied. “Oh Linus, I should never have married you.”

“Hey!” He stuffed the letter into his pocket and sat up. “Don’t let me hear you say that again! I’ve never done a better thing in my life than when I said _I do_.”

“Oh Linus – you are terribly sweet.” She wound her fingers tightly together. “It was the best thing _I_ ever did, too – I promise. But I do hate that people will think less of you.”

“Hang what people think of me. I just don’t want any fools thinking less of _you_.” He lay down and tugged her arm until she lay down, too, as close to him as she could. She began to feel warm again, and soothed. How strange it was that marriage had changed her so fast; that her comfort in the world was already linked so firmly to this man at her side.

“What can we do to make them see it isn’t what they think?” she asked. “I know in one way it’s not important – but at the same time it _is_ important.”

“We’ll hold up our chins and make them see it in our terms.”

“I think that’s a better tactic for the boardroom than for New York high society, Linus.”

“Hmm. Here’s another: we’ll say your father’s a disinherited English aristocrat. Or maybe your mother was. Yes, I think that’s better. Is your father a good liar?”

She giggled, half in amusement and half in shock. “Linus! What a dreadful thing to ask!”

“Well, if not, he can pretend to be overcome with emotion any time he’s asked about her.”

Sabrina turned the idea around in her head, frowning. “Will that really _do_?” she asked, watching his face. “What if people don’t believe us?”

A tiny frown passed across his brow. “They might not believe us, but they’ll believe my parents soon enough. My parents and Elizabeth. I’ve been thinking about it, Sabrina, and do you know what I’ve concluded?”

“No, but I expect you’ll tell me … ”

“I reckon that my family has only one choice here. Help force you down the throat of New York society, or look ridiculous themselves. And Larrabees _hate_ looking ridiculous.”

This Sabrina could well believe. She took a deep breath – sweet meadow scents and Linus’s cologne. “It’s a plan. Now, hold me, darling – please?”

Her command was his pleasure.

*

Their apartment had no telephone, so Linus developed the habit of spending a few hours each morning at a club in central Paris, reading the newspapers and then sending flocks of telegrams to Miss McCardle. Every so often David sent _him_ a telegram, suggesting he set up Larrabee (Europe Division), and Linus would write back in the absolute negative, viz., David wouldn’t get rid of Linus that easily. Then he would come home to Sabrina and grumble over lunch. She had a way of drawing out his bad humour and returning it to him as good humour, like a fairy turning straw to gold. 

“Sabrina, I’m home!”

It was a cold morning outside, with a wind that cut like a blade, and he savoured the welcome aroma of roasting poultry in their apartment. He cast his briefcase and hat in the direction of their least-favourite armchair and ambled into the kitchen. Sabrina sat on a stool by the oven, frowning over the pages of a letter.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Elizabeth is expecting a baby,” said Sabrina.

“You’re kidding,” said Linus, and went for the wine. “Now that _is_ a difference from David’s three other true loves.” He paused, his hand on a bottle. “Don’t tell me she’s writing to you herself?”

“Of course not. This is from Miss McCardle.”

“Miss McCardle writes to you?”

Sabrina finally gave him her full attention, eyes widening. “Yes, hadn’t you noticed? We’ve been corresponding ever since I arrived here. At first she just wanted to ensure all her arrangements with the apartment and so forth were in order, but it turned out we share an interest in French song.”

 _Song_ and _Miss McCardle_ were not concepts Linus had previously considered together. Sabrina, as always, broadened his horizons considerably. He fetched a chair to sit beside her – he didn’t think his knees could endure a stool – and supplied them both with a nice red wine before sitting down to hear all the gossip from New York. Elizabeth was pregnant, Mrs McCardle was recovering nicely from a bout of pleurisy, and the Larrabees had invited three hundred people to their Christmas ball.

“That’s Elizabeth’s doing,” Linus interjected. “Father hates Christmas. Three hundred people, eh? I hope they’ve ordered enough champagne. And glasses.”

Sabrina refolded the letter and looked at him solemnly. “I think we ought to be in New York for Christmas. That means we’ll have time to establish ourselves before Elizabeth’s baby arrives – because we’ll need her a great deal.”

Linus agreed, but he hadn’t wanted to be the one to suggest it. He spun the stem of his wine glass between two fingers. “Are you sure?

“I know it is going to be difficult,” she replied, swallowing. “But I know also that we can’t live in our honeymoon forever.”

He set the wine aside, and leaned down a little to look her in the eyes. “Sabrina,” he said, “whenever I’m with you it will always be our honeymoon.”


End file.
